Hermione's first thought was of why he had chosen to use their real names; whatever anonymity he'd sought was blown with outlandish names like theirs. She would have thought he'd love making up the absolute worst names possible and then using them relentlessly. However, she had to admit that 'Hermione' was not an easy name to normalize. And the look that had flashed in his eyes – perhaps scheming had, for a moment, been replaced by blunt realization and his mouth worked on its own.

His teammate, the balding, slightly overweight man, laughed and shook their hands. "Good strong names, those! Mum into Shakespeare, Hermione?"

She nodded; her mother had confessed as much when she was nine years old.

"What's your excuse, Luc?"

"I was overly optimistic," Lucius said. "Draco means dragon. He has yet to grow wings…but he may have sprouted horns while I wasn't looking." Neither of them missed the edge in his voice. The other man laughed and walked away, shaking his head.

They were both a little wrong-footed by Lucius's veiled reaction. They had not walked onto the pitch arm in arm, had been careful to stay a few inches away from one another; still he knew and apparently he wasn't happy about it. Hermione was beginning to think she couldn't hide anything from him.

Her brain restarted suddenly. Why had she gone to his flat? To see him, not Draco. And what had she intended on doing once there? She had no bloody idea. If he had been there, would she have…would she have given herself to him instead? Would she be laying in post-coital bliss with Lucius, rather than standing in muffled ambiguity with Draco? Had she only gone to seek sexual comfort, and taken it from whoever was there?

She didn't know. She didn't know the answer to any of it. Draco had said she would fall to Lucius's charm but he had done little to charm her, other than be his enigmatic self. And she had thought it was all a game to him, a fun exercise in sabotage and revenge, but this reaction was one of…hurt?

"Father…" Draco said. Lucius cut him off.

"Later. I've got a match to win." He dropped the water bottle and jogged away from them.

She exchanged a look with Draco. He looked troubled, but not half as troubled as she felt. If she was going to be a reckless, horny woman, spiraling in the confusion of her divorce, Lucius deserved her attention more. He had been there. He knew what it felt like. He had faced both Ginny and Harry like a weathered champion. And, she realized, he had done it for her. Not for any plot, not for any promise of revenge or redemption – for her. And what had Draco done? Draco had spouted a few words on a screen, appeared when she was most vulnerable, and while he had certainly performed well and made her feel incredible, that was all. There was no friendship between them, not yet. There was only physical attraction that she had acted on much too thoughtlessly.

Ron's words echoed in her head. He knows you're vulnerable and is trying to take advantage of that. Oh, she wanted to believe that it wasn't true, that Draco really had changed, but the seed of doubt was there now. But the way he looked at her…the way he had touched her…Hermione shook her head. She would sort this out later. For now Draco had the benefit of the doubt.

On the field Lucius had received the ball once more, but he did not move forward with it. He was still, poised, and then in a quick second he turned and launched a wicked kick at a bush near the sidelines. Several of the men on the field began to shout, annoyed at his giveaway, but then a flash and a pained yelp erupted from the bush. A man tumbled out of it. A man with a camera.

The field went quiet. Lucius moved quickly to stand over the paparazzo and Hermione could tell from the set of his back that he was angry. The football had shattered the flashbulb of the man's camera, but not before he got a picture of it coming at him.

"Publish that one, will you?" Lucius said coldly.

"Hey, Malloy, you famous or something?" one of the men yelled, only half-joking.

"In all the wrong circles," he responded, still glacial. "And for all the wrong reasons."

The cameraman scrambled to his feet and tried to stare Lucius down, but he might as well have been facing a great white shark that smelled blood. He wilted. Lucius made to take a step forward, a quick, sudden, threatening movement, and the intruder flinched and stumbled over his own feet. He fell back to the ground in an undignified heap.

Lucius turned and walked away. The men on the field were roaring with laughter, appreciating his thorough ownership of the paparazzo. Lucius did not share their mirth. The paparazzo, that same man with mud-brown hair, stood up and ran.

"Oi, Malloy, use that magic foot!" Someone tossed him another football. He caught it but shook his head.

"Come on!" several of them prompted.

"Fifty pounds if you hit him!" another shouted.

Lucius rolled his eyes. "I have a much higher asking price." But he turned and set the football on the ground, placing it on a level spot. He took four steps back, squinted at the retreating man, and kicked.

The ball soared high and it seemed to take a long time to drift downwards, but his aim was true. It arced in a graceful parabola and landed directly on the fleeing cameraman's head. The men on the field and most of the people on the sidelines burst into laughter as he went down as suddenly and violently as if he'd been shot.

"Oh, an aim to make Becks jealous!" his friendly teammate exclaimed as he patted Lucius on the back. "You're something, Malloy."

"Yes," he said, suddenly looking tired, "something else."

"You were serious when you said he liked me," Hermione said. They were some distance from the pitch now, waiting in the dusk as the men packed up.

"Of course I was. Couldn't you tell?" Draco asked.

"No. I…he…" she closed her eyes and sighed. "And you just disregarded it? Had no problem breezing in and plucking me away?"

It was Draco's turn to close his eyes and sigh. "You told me that I shouldn't yield you to another man. You see how women react to my father. He can have anyone he wants." Draco lifted her chin gently. "He can't have you."

Tears pricked her eyes. Draco was trying to please her, doing his best to acquiesce to her wishes in the new and terrifying arena of love, and without realizing it she had pitted him against his father. She hadn't meant to do it. She didn't think Lucius really wanted her. Yes, he'd kissed her and well at that, but she thought it was because she was a challenge, a new and interesting experiment. Oh, what had she done?

"You like him, too," Draco said softly. He sighed and brushed a tear from her cheek. "You like us both."

She nodded and the tears came unbidden, welling up from some place she couldn't identify.

"We're really blundering things up for you, aren't we."

She nodded again. He held her tentatively, offering a broad shoulder to rest her cheek upon. She knew without asking that they were looking in the same direction. They were both looking at Lucius. He was on the other side of the field, retrieving Oberon from the throng of his teammate's children that he'd entrusted him to.

"He deserves someone like you," Draco said. "Smart and pretty and vivacious."

Hermione sniffled. "So do you."

His chin brushed her hair as he nodded. "And there's the rub."

Lucius had come over to them, but only to ask them to take Oberon home. He was, he informed them, going to the pub with Tony and the team. He told them not to wait up and not to worry and really, he was fine with things, he was, and he'd see them later. Neither of them bought it.

They walked back toward his flat quietly, moving a bit slow because Oberon had been tired out by the children.

"Everything else aside, Hermione, I do have something to tell you," Draco said at last, somber.

"About Ron and Mykonos?"

He nodded. She sighed heavily. If she was going to deal with more emotional turmoil, it might as well all be heaped into one.

"What did you find out?"

"He did sleep with that woman, but he was set up. The woman was paid by Skeeter and given a Drowsy Draught to use on him. I spoke to her myself. She said she needed the money and didn't know Ron was married, or else she wouldn't have done it. She'll testify against Skeeter if we ask her to."

"I wish I was more surprised by that," Hermione remarked into the large silence.

"Aren't you happy?"

"No, because Ron wants to divorce me anyway."

Draco was stunned. "I…he does?"

She turned to him. "You didn't know?" Draco shook his head. "I signed the papers yesterday."

"Merlin," Draco breathed. "What is wrong with him? I…damn it!"

"What?"

"The only reason I was so forward today was because I was sure you'd reconcile with Weasley once I told you the news. I was sure I'd never have another chance."

"What kind of twisted logic is that?!" she demanded. "Withholding information and sleeping with me before you give me back to my husband?" Ex-husband, her brain reminded her. Miraculously, she didn't feel like she wanted to rip his head of. Anger was sparked, yes, but she recognized with a casual resignation that when one chose to deal with snakes, one sometimes got bitten. At least this time it had been an agreeable bite.

"I don't know," he cringed. "The kind you use when you like someone so much it's painful and don't know what the hell to do about it."

"Oh, Draco," Hermione sighed. His honesty decimated all her anger. Again that problem with staying angry; evidently it was genetic. "Why didn't you just tell me? Why make it so that I was spending more time with your father?" she asked.

"I never expected to see you again, or that you'd have any feeling other than hatred for me," he confessed. "I needed time to sort what I was feeling." Draco frowned. "I guess that time came at my father's expense."

Hermione massaged her temples. These men! Both of them were so complicated and not at the same time. She still didn't quite understand Draco's motivations but this was about all she could take for one day. What a fucking mess. "I guess I should owl Ron and tell him. He'll want to know. He won't come running back to me and even if he did I wouldn't take him, but he'll be angry and probably willing to testify." She looked down at her feet. "If he ever gets over the fact that I'm with a Malfoy."

"You wouldn't be if he got his head out of his arse," Draco muttered. "His loss."

"I'm beginning to regret ever going to that pub," Hermione said a minute later, as they turned onto Lucius's block. "You never would have had your miraculous epiphany and none of this would be happening."

Draco chuckled. "If I'm being honest, I may as well tell you. That epiphany happened a long time ago."

She looked up sharply. "When?"

"Seventh year. The end of the war." He shook his head. "You were like…Circe herself on that battlefield. After that I didn't see blood anymore, Hermione, I only saw magic."

They were at Lucius's door now and they stood, his words sinking in to her. He handed her Oberon's leash and the key to the door.

"I had better go. Something tells me Weasley won't want to testify for exactly the reason you mentioned, and the word of one Greek hooker won't put Skeeter away," he sighed. He leaned down and brushed a kiss on her forehead. "I want you to take your time and choose, Hermione. If it's my father you like best, then…" he struggled for words, "I won't be happy, and it will be difficult, but I'll deal with it. What's important is not how I feel, but how you feel. And if he makes you happy…I want you to be with him."

"Draco--"

"But don't forget about me while I'm gone. Don't…Merlin, I'm rubbish at this."

She smiled through another impending round of tears. She stood on her tiptoes and brushed a kiss to his forehead. Lucius had faced Harry and Ginny for her, it was true, but Draco had gone out of his way to try to rescue her marriage and salvage her reputation. Granted, he'd lost his self-control this afternoon, but up until that point his intentions had been honorable and she hadn't exactly resisted him. They were both worthy, different yet equally intriguing; Lucius, experienced, controlled, charismatic, shedding the last of an old dead skin like the pretty snake he was, and Draco, younger and less tainted, flexible, earnest, already leaving that old skin behind…

"Don't be a stranger, Draco," she whispered, and watched him apparate away.

She knew that staying at Lucius's flat wasn't a good idea. She'd already been seduced by one Malfoy today and in spite of how he had moderated, she still didn't know what he was like when he was angry or felt slighted. She wanted to explain herself, though. She wanted to make him understand. So she sat on his couch watching reruns of Doctor Who, Oberon curled up next to her with his warm head in her lap.

It was a long time before he came back. It was nearly one in the morning. She braced herself; Lucius out drinking for almost five hours couldn't end well. He seemed in control of himself, however, when he unlocked the door and shut it behind him. There wasn't a trace of a wobble in his step but he did smell like neighborhood pub.

"Why are you here?" he asked.

"Lucius--"

Mercurial, he moved on to a new topic as he entered the living room. "Doctor Who?"

"I…yes," she answered, blinking, surprised by his mood swing and his instantaneous recognition of the show. He really did watch too much television.

"Eccleston or the other one?"

"Other one."

He wrinkled his nose. "Don't like him. He looks like Barty Crouch, Jr." He dropped his shoes on the floor and walked out of the room.

Hermione sat on the couch, bewildered. She couldn't figure out if he was angry, drunk, or just querulous. Maybe he was all three. She could attest that they occasionally coexisted. She blew out a sigh, ruffling Oberon's short fur, and the dog looked up at her, affronted. She scratched behind his ears and he forgave her. If only it was that easy with Lucius.

He emerged from the kitchen with a glass of water. He then collapsed on the opposite end of the couch, his posture surly, and nursed the water in silence. Hermione didn't know what to say. Perhaps it was best if she didn't say anything.

She watched him for a minute or two. His eyes were fixed firmly on the television but she could tell that he wasn't watching it. Wheels were turning inside his head. That scared her more than the silence. But if he'd allowed her to stay, he couldn't be too angry…right?

He was providing no answers and she turned back to the television with a sigh. A full fifteen minutes went by. She almost forgot that he was fuming beside her. Until, that is, he rocketed to his feet, placing the glass on the end table none too gently, and demanded,

"What in the name of Merlin did he say to you?"

She jumped, startling Oberon and causing the dog to make a hasty exit from her lap. Noticing that his master was prowling like a caged animal, the dog further removed himself by trotting out of the room.

"What did who say to me?" she asked, willing herself to be calm.

"Draco."

She shook her head. "I don't understand."

Lucius sighed, visibly agitated. He paced a few more times and then abruptly sat back down.

"He came to me earlier," he said, rubbing his temples. "Said that he cared for you, wanted to pursue you, and requested that I back off."

Her mouth fell open.

"I agreed and I still do." He leaned back, his leg twitching madly. "He is more deserving, and I have done so much wrong by him." He frowned. More accurately, he pouted, but she would never dare to call it that out loud. He sank lower against the couch. "But Merlin's flipping beard, I didn't expect you to give in to him so quickly!"

Hermione suppressed a smile. She could read between the lines. He had been willing to surrender her, but expected to have a little more time to disengage himself, to sever his feelings…

"He must have some talent I lack," Lucius grumbled. "Or perhaps I am too patient."

"He says the same thing about you," she smiled. He waved a hand truculently and resumed his dignified sulking.

"Lucius…"

But he stood up, restless once again, and disappeared into the kitchen. There were soft sounds as he moved around.

"It's after midnight, yes? That makes it three years," he murmured to himself. He reemerged with a bottle and two glasses. "We can toast the anti-anniversary." He poured a small glass for her and then one for him and resumed his place on the couch, calmer but still taut with some undefined energy.

Hermione sniffed the liquor. It smelled tempting and terrible at the same time.

"What is this?"

"Isle of Skye."

She grimaced. She didn't like whiskey, but she'd drink it anyway. In exactly three years he'd get his wand back. Merlin only knew what he'd do then…she hoped Merlin knew because she was fairly sure that Lucius didn't.

Hermione knocked it back, realizing that this was becoming a bad habit. She tried not to cough as it burned a cool swath down her esophagus. Lucius had no such problems. They sat in the dark, the television flickering with a show neither of them was watching, in uneasy peace. At last he pulled himself up with a great sigh. He put a hand over his stomach and made a face.

"Remind me," he declared, "never to drink anything that ends in 'meister' or 'schlager' ever again."

Against her better judgment, she stayed. Lately everything was against her better judgment…but for the first time since the whole bitter mess began she slept blissfully. Ensconced in the bed in Lucius's guestroom, she was dead to world for nine hours. Just before noon she drifted peacefully into consciousness and felt (if only for a few minutes) that everything was all right.

She didn't hear him. It was Monday; he ought to be belligerently counseling people on his ever-present phone. Perhaps he was eating lunch. Stretching, Hermione took a moment to tame her sleep-mussed hair and then emerged. A strong sense of déjà vu hit her in the hallway. It was not so long ago that she'd made this trip the first time.

He wasn't in the kitchen or the living room or his office. His phone sat forlornly next to the computer. Unable to resist, she checked the device – eight missed calls. Seven of which are probably Franz, she thought to herself, and smiled.

Perhaps he had gone out? Or perhaps he was feeling those aperitifs ending in 'meister' or 'schlager'. Curiosity was eating her up. She knew which room was his; he'd disappeared into it to get her clothing that first time. The door was open a crack, inviting her.

Oberon made the decision for her. A wet nose and grey snout suddenly wedged itself in the small opening and pushed the door open. The dog stood in the doorway, contemplating her, his docked tail wagging. Beyond him she could Lucius in bed, still and breathing evenly. Asleep.

She stepped inside the doorway and Oberon circled her legs anxiously. Poor thing probably needed to be walked. She could put him in the playroom but it looked like another nauseatingly beautiful day outside; since when did London have such good weather? She patted the dog on the head and resolved to walk him, but not until after she got a good look at his master.

It was strange to see him so vulnerable. Watching him sleep felt almost indecent, like she was eavesdropping on something terribly private. She was sure she'd never see his face so relaxed or so unguarded any other time. Like this, pale and tranquil, it was hard to believe he had ever been so inhuman. Indeed, that old Lucius was fading so quickly in her mind that soon she would not be able to recall him at all.

Even under her stare he didn't stir. She wondered if he had stayed up, staring at the ceiling, tortured by something she didn't understand. He was more complex than she had ever realized. More complex and more conflicted and more everything. Damn him.

With a sigh she left him to his rest. She would go see Harry and Ginny and bring Oberon with her; he was probably missing his sister and she hadn't yet heard if Harry's trial had resulted in a new contract. Most people had expected him to become an auror after the war, and he'd completed half the training, but his heart hadn't been in it. She couldn't blame him; he'd spent half his short life fighting and he deserved an escape more than anyone. He'd played quidditch in University (which greatly overshadowed his degree in Defensive Magic) and then been signed to the Caerphilly Catapults. In two seasons Harry had catapulted them from the basement to second in the Welsh league. He was a free agent now and though Harry didn't really care about money or glory, there was more to be found elsewhere. With Oliver Wood's higher profile English team he'd gain more exposure and probably get a trial with the national side.

She charmed her teeth clean, pulled her hair into a presentable ponytail, and considered helping herself to another dose of Lucius's cologne. However, her clothing smelled fine; all of yesterday's sweat-work had been done without it…

She put a hand over her face and groaned.

"Hermione! We weren't expecting you," Ginny said as she opened the door. The redhead's cheeks were flushed and her hair a bit messy; Hermione wondered if she'd interrupted something. If she had it probably meant good news.

"Hey, Hermione!" Harry called cheerfully from deeper in the house. As Ginny ushered her in, she could see that Harry was similarly ruddy and had put two different socks on. He was wearing a Puddlemere United t-shirt, confirming her suspicions. "We were just about to have lunch, will you join us?"

Hermione smiled. Lunch, right – if lunch consisted of one another. "If you'll have me," she answered mildly.

"Of course!" the two of them chorused. Then they looked at each other quickly, blushed, and then looked away. Hermione chuckled and busied herself with unhooking Oberon's leash. At that moment, Titania burst into the room with an excited bark.

"Where are you two getting these dogs?" Harry asked, shaking his head as the dogs sniffed one another and began to rough house.

"They're Malfoy's," Hermione answered. "Didn't Ginny tell you?"

"No," he said pointedly, giving his girlfriend a sideways glance. "Malfoy just let you borrow his dog?"

"As a matter of fact, he did," she responded. Harry shrugged.

"I never really liked dogs, not after my Aunt Marge's bulldog Ripper," he frowned. "But these two are quite agreeable. We might have to get one of our own."

"Do you mean that?" Ginny asked, almost sashaying around the table to fall into his arms.

"Of course," he said, and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips.

Hermione resisted the urge to gag. She was very happy for Harry and Ginny, really she was. It was just this divorce thing; it made her irrationally hate everyone who could find happiness where hers had failed. She had become…cynical. She would have to get over it eventually.

Having to choose between two attractive men wasn't helping. It was like having to choose between vanilla and chocolate; both had their strong points, their differences, and were irresistible in their own way. She sighed as her mind schizophrenically jumped to the waiter in the café before all of this had started. It was true that there were many people out there who would wish to have her problems…

Those people were insane.

Harry made a ridiculously good Caesar salad, as it turned out. Paired with the famous Weasley summer tea (it had a dash of peach schnapps in it) it felt like the perfect July afternoon. She sat in Harry and Ginny's small kitchen, basking in their presence and the light breeze that drifted through the windows. The Wizard Wireless was on loud enough to make out the reports but low enough to ignore. The dogs had tired themselves playing and lay in a heap of grey fur by the couch.

"And now the topic turns to something we've all been hearing about, something rather sensational. I don't think there's a person in existence who hasn't seen the recent pictures and articles about Lucius Malfoy…"

"They're obsessed with him," Harry sighed. "I'll turn it off."

"No," Hermione said, "I haven't been keeping up with things, so let's hear it. They're sure to mention me."

"That isn't necessarily a good thing," Harry frowned, but reluctantly raised the volume.

"So, on this, the third anniversary of Malfoy's deeply controversial divorce, we're going to speak of what these new appearances mean. Mainly, do we believe that he's actually changed?"

"Hermione?" Ginny said, noticing the horrified expression that had crept across her face.

"Oh," she said softly. Last night's toast had not been about recovering his wand. It had been about the divorce. Three years divorced…three years alone. That was why her relations with Draco bothered him so much – he liked her and she had slept with his son on the anniversary of his divorce! It didn't matter that he'd given his blessing; it still smarted. Heaven help her. That was why he had been so moody. As difficult as it was to believe, pain had kept him awake so late that he was still asleep at noon. The anti-anniversary…

Harry and Ginny were looking at her expectantly and with a fair amount of concern.

"I'll tell you later," she sighed. "After the rest of the report."

They nodded and listened intently.

"Malfoy more or less disappeared after the divorce was finalized. Now, if you recall a lot of horrific accusations were leveled at him during that process. Among these accusations were rape and child abuse, a lot of really terrible things. He was cleared of all these, but it was never acknowledged that the allegations were lies. The general public believes this actually happened. One has to wonder if Rita Skeeter is creating more lies now that Malfoy has re-emerged. What do you think, Icarus?"

A second voice chimed in.

"Well, Skeeter is now blaming Malfoy for the recent divorce of Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley. Malfoy and Granger have appeared in some interesting photographs lately, so maybe there was an affair going on, but Skeeter disregards the fact that Weasley did cheat on Granger. She was so kind as to bring that to the world's attention first and is now completely ignoring it. I think that perhaps Miss Skeeter has something against both Malfoy and Granger; she goes out of her way to make them look bad."

"An interesting point. Readers and listeners seem to agree; though overall subscriptions to Witch Weekly have gone up in this media maelstrom, Skeeter's popularity has plummeted in the last week. She's down nearly thirty percentage points."

"It's working," Ginny grinned.

"Serves her right," Hermione muttered under her breath.

"It should be pointed out that Malfoy has served six years of a nine year sentence without a single violation of the terms of his punishment," the radio host went on. "He hasn't done any magic, hasn't attempted to procure a wand, and with these recent pictures just published today, it is being suggested that he is living harmoniously as a muggle in London."

"Yes, today's pictures show him playing muggle football. I can barely believe it, but it's him. I think there's definite hope here. If he's having a relationship with Hermione Granger, who as many of you know, is muggleborn, his ideals about purity of wizarding blood may have changed."

"Let's hope so, Icarus. What do you listeners think? We're going to take a quick break, during which time we invite you to owl or send in your opinion via the wireless. We'll read some of your responses when we get back. In the meantime, please enjoy these messages from Florean Fortescue's new expanded Ice Cream Shop and Weasley Wizard Wheezes…"

"It's going exactly as you planned," Ginny commented. "And I for one am glad."

"I never knew all that stuff about Malfoy was false," Harry said thoughtfully. "Up until recently you could've told me anything about him and I'd probably believe it."

"That makes two of us," Hermione sighed, standing. "Thank you for lunch…but I've got to go."

She had thought that perhaps she could bring Titania back, but the dog didn't want to leave. She stayed warily by Ginny, plying Hermione with puppy-dog eyes. Perhaps Titania knew best when it was time to go; Hermione left her there. Harry and Ginny were taking excellent care of her and there was no use trying to change the situation if all involved were happy.

Mercifully she remembered the key Draco gave her last night. As she let herself in to Lucius's flat, she wondered if he'd be up and about now. However, it looked exactly as it had when she left. It was nearly three o'clock. Was he still in bed?

She checked his phone and his computer. Thirteen missed calls now, and one message box. Draco. He had typed 'I'm sorry' about fifteen times. Evidently he had realized what day it was, too, and how much his seduction of her had wounded his father. Not because he was in love with her; he wasn't. It was the timing.

She put Oberon in the playroom and this time walked unhesitatingly into his room. Sure enough, he was still coiled beneath the covers. A dull pain throbbed in her chest; this wasn't about exhaustion, it was about depression. For once the façade was down. And why not? If he couldn't be openly miserable today, when could he?

She took off her shoes. Misery loved company, didn't it? Without much thought, she climbed into the bed beside him and curled against his back. He wasn't wearing a shirt and his skin was quite warm. She was hit by his scent – pure man. Oh, she had been a thousand percent right about him not needing cologne. He didn't move but there was enough tension in his body that she knew he was awake.

"I'm sorry," she murmured against his hair. Her mother had done the exact same thing for her when she'd come after Ron's last visit. She had crawled into bed, held her fractured daughter, smoothing her hair gently behind her ear, and simply been there. Sometimes everyone needed a physical rock, an anchor…

The tension leached out of him. His shoulders relaxed and dropped. He shifted slightly but didn't try to escape. She lay against him, matching her breath to his, feeling the steady staccato of his heart, for an indeterminate time. She was almost lulled into sleep when he quietly spoke.

"What time is it?"

"I don't know. After 3."

"And how many times has Franz called?"

She smiled into the silk of his pale tresses. "Thirteen, at last check."

"Freak," he muttered. "I don't know what he's worried about, muggle tax season is still months away." His skin shifted against her as he sighed. "I have a six o'clock dinner appointment with the Bulstrodes. I have to finish covering up two years of blatant tax evasion."

"Should you be doing that?"

"They're under blood oath to pay what they owe by August 1. I'm just keeping them out of court."

"And if they don't pay?"

"They will." His voice was coolly certain and held an undertone that reminded her who she was dealing with. She wondered what conditions had been placed on that blood oath; one didn't need a wand for that. Blood was magical enough…

He moved suddenly. She didn't have time even for a thought. He pressed her onto her back and draped his body over hers, chest to chest, hip to hip. For the second time in just over 24 hours, a Malfoy was on top of her, inflamed with something even he couldn't describe. And for the second time, her body was reacting. In the languid pressure of his body, the dangerous blue of his eyes, and the dominance he exuded, she was feeling the full and formidable brunt of Lucius Malfoy's sexuality. It became increasingly difficult to breathe when his tongue flickered over pulse.

"You are playing a dangerous game, little witch," he whispered, "crawling into my bed on a day like this."